Like the wandering Jew, Bedford, you see I am here
there & every where. now tramping it to Worcester, now peripateticating to Cambridge, & now on saddle equastrian in the land of Cyder. traversing the shores of the Wye & riding listlessly over the spot where once Ariconium [1] stood. walking amongst the dusty tombs of my
progenitors in the cathedral — seeing grown-up-boys-&-girls amusing themselves with bows & arrows — moralizing and essayizing
upon all & forming a letter upon a different subject every hour. the most agreable part of this to myself & I dare to think to
you is that in the course of a fortnight I ramble to Brixton. my next letter shall fix the day.
as I rode along now fast now slow now wet now dry before I joined my Uncle I
ran over your thoughts upon religion &c a thousand times. every inn I came to I refreshed my memory. religion is a subject upon
which so much may be said that wiser heads than ours have been puzzled how to decide. rogues have made it a pretence for every enormity
fools have trembled or despised whilst the wiser part of mankind have revered & obeyed. were I a Legislator — I would build a
temple to the One Eternal Universal God. my national creed should be God is one — Christ is the Saviour of Mankind — for the
metaphysical disquisitions of subtle disputants — divine Doctors — schoolmen whose brains are intricate as a bale of raw silk — mad
monks — & drunken divines I would reject them all, & every man who acknowledged a deity might worship him unmolested under my
establishment. the human race would soon be fraternized by a system so liberal & those atrocious animosities which prompt the
orthodox to revile their dissenting brethren would be forgotten. a churchman will speak with temper of a Jew a Hottentot or a Moslem —
but when he names a Presbyterian or a Socinian all the rage of persecution glows in his zealous breast & for want of stronger
mental arguments he seems ready to adopt the convincing ones of fire & faggot. I am an enemy to an establishment. church &
state produce but a mulish kind of barren religion. tho we turned out the scarlet whore we kept her red petticoat. what is the national
religion of America? test acts I abhor. the scrupulous sectary is prevented from entering the pale of the church whilst the door is
open to the Deist or the Libertine who can swallow an oath as easily as a bumper. at Oxford I have seen the destined pillars of the
church wallowing in all the filth of debauchery

you will impute this dislike of Hierarchy to my being a re-publican & a sinner. had any of the Apostles ten thousand a year? what
said the saviour of mankind concerning dignities & wealth? I could proceed much farther but how this has gone so far I know not.
Frends conduct I despise — that of his persecutors I execrate. [3] the little I know of his pamphlet is too contemptible to
deserve notice. marriage is a sacred institution & the man who would lessen the reverence due to it is a villain.

how these very heterodox opinions may coincide with yours I know not. tis best we should differ upon some subjects —
but we are nearer upon all than you imagine. not that I am apostatizing — my principles & practice are equally democratic & you
are the greatest democrat in your actions that ever gave the lie to his own opinions.

Judge Nares [5] was sitting at the head of his table & his son at the bottom. what have you got there
Jack? Goose Pappa. what have you got? calves head my Uncle knows Nares & the muscles of my Face are often in great agony.

9 o clock. as I put yr brothers letter in the office to day
I took yours out. my silence is accounted for & whenever it happened you may depend upon it some strange occurrence taciturnifies
me. silence is not my — fault shall I say or virtue? three times have I read your letter unable to make head or tail of the latter part
till the third reading & after discovering the sense (enigmatical as the prophecies of Delphi [7] or the whore of Babylon) [8] conclude with one of my new correspondents that you were all mad — by Gad — matter in
madness [9]
says Shakespere — but what was the matter? — something material of course. Mr D [10] (what was his name?) usurps my post
— punster of mankind. you are indebted to {me} the half yard of poetry.

sitting in the window at Uley last Wednesday with Mr Shepherd & his sister [11] — she cried out what creature is that? out we leapt — over the ha-ha — & with the
assistance of two dogs killed a stoat. this furnished laughter & conversation. a tame kite eat this stoat & we were contriving
epitaphs such as — here lies the poor stoat — that went down the kites throat — &c. I wrote these lines & slipt into her
hand

Lifeless within this breast the victim lies

Slain by the fatal power of Ellens eyes.

she is a most agreable lively girl — with that face which a critic would call ugly — but of which a Physiognomist would pronounce more
favourably — a pair {of} eyes well illuminated by sense & the same nose that made such havoc in the seraglio of Soliman. [12] so much for Ellen Shepherd with whom I passed some very agreable hours & of whom I shall often think with
pleasure.

this journey has deranged my plan of operations for the campaign. poor Joan [13] has stood still on her road & her history — I have nearly finished the
first {book} in a manner with which I am satisfied & as I am the person whom it is most material to please my own taste must
be first consulted. I feel much inclined to democratize an ode to the palace of King John of tooth-drawing memory. [14]

wandering over cathedrals is apt to make me melancholy but when I tread upon the rotten relics of royalty I feel proud
& satisfied. I have exalted over the tomb of Jack the dentist [15] — moralized over the petty warriors of the Heptarchy — sighed for the lot of Robert of Normandy [16] over his grave — I thought of
Gray [17] as I stood contemplating the monument of Edward 2nd. he is the
only man whom capricious cruelty amidst its various experiments {ever} tried to make a pop gun off [18] — in Thornbury churchyard I was struck by an odd epitaph. sombody who died after fifty
years affliction of body & mind —

What eer my former life has been

My latter was penitence for sin.

— I forget his name but Gent. was tacked to it so that his crimes & punishments are easily guessed. upon this I
mused for ten miles & it may perhaps furnish some future essay.

I have heard from Edmund Seward. the news from Derby which he
sends is good & I am more fully satisfied that democracy is but another word for all that is good when I find him equally
democratic with myself. I am come to the end of my paper & recollect a thousand things which I wished to have said — it has already
been delayed to mention the day of my departure & still it is impossible to fix. you will certainly see me this week but the
weighty business of washing mending & marking — cleaning leather breeches —repairing shoes & getting together linen which has
mouldered for six months is so intricate that my head is not mathematical enough to measure out a proper portion of time. as soon as
this letter is finished I shall begin another & proceed till Times gentle hand unravels the clue.

Seward has revived the battle of the petticoat by asking whether the German women
so celebrated for their virtues thought long petticoats necessary to decency. the German women are no guides for us in this matter — we
may as well follow the inoffensive manner of Vaillants [19] sentimental Hottentots — strip a la mode Wynn in the wood [20] — & season our baskets you know how. I am for Liberty & Long
Petticoats.

Tuesday. at last all is settled & on Thursday evening I get into the mail coach. on Friday morning I
get out. step into the first hack & hope to breakfast at Brixton. it will the best way of
conveying my trunk & desk. till then farewell.

yr sincerely

R Southey.

this letter was very near coming in my pocket. I should have departed this evening if I could have found room.

[2] Southey is paraphrasing William
Cowper (1731–1800; DNB), The Task, A Poem, in Six Books (London, 1785), Book 1, ‘The
Time-piece’, p. 65. BACK

[3] William Frend (1757–1841; DNB), religious writer and actuary. Elected to a fellowship at Jesus College, Cambridge in 1780. In May 1793,
he was tried by the university authorities for his authorship of Peace and Union Recommended to the Associated
Bodies of Republicans and Anti-Republicans (1793). BACK

[5] Southey is possibly referring to George Nares (1716–1786; DNB), a judge. BACK

[6] Southey is adapting Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–1778), Confessions, Book 12.
The French is translated in The Confessions of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, transl. J. M. Cohen (London, 1953;
reprinted 1954), p. 593, as: ‘I can think of no more fitting homage to the Divinity than the silent wonder aroused by the
contemplation of His works … I cannot understand how those who live in the country, and the solitary especially, can be lacking in
faith. How is it that their souls are not raised in ecstasy a hundred times a day to the Author of the wonders that strike their
eyes? … In my room I pray less often and with less fervour; but at the sight of a beautiful landscape I feel moved … An old woman
whose sole prayer consisted of the exclamation “O!” “Good mother” said he [a wise bishop], “go on praying like that always. Your
prayer is better than ours.” That better prayer is also mine.’ BACK

[10] Identity
uncertain, but this could be a reference to a Mr Deacon, a friend of the Bedford family. BACK

[11] Mr Shepherd (dates unknown) was probably the pseudonymous author of A Tour Through
France, Containing a Description of Paris, Cherbourg and Ermenonville; with a Rhapsody, Composed at the Tomb of Rousseau
(1789). His sister’s name was Ellen. BACK

[12] Isaac Bickerstaffe (1733–1808), The Sultan: A Peep into the Seraglio
(1775). BACK

[14] The reference is to Raphael Holinshed (1525–1580; DNB), Chronicles of England, Scotland and Ireland (1577), and the story that King John (1167–1216; reigned 1199–1216; DNB) extorted 10,000 marks from a Jew of Bristol by drawing one of his teeth each day until he agreed to supply
the money. BACK

[16] Robert, Duke of Normandy (b. in or after 1050, d. 1134; DNB), eldest son
of William I, the Conqueror (1027/8–1087; reigned 1066–1087; DNB) he inherited his father’s lands in France
but not those in England. He was captured by his brother Henry I (1068/9–1135; reigned 1100–1135; DNB) in
1106 and spent the remainder of his life in captivity. His tomb is in Gloucester cathedral. BACK